My Fascist Pony
by Damian Lovat
Summary: Those who do not know their history are condemned to repeat it. Contains alcoholism, drug use, sexual references  no lemons , Nazism, fascism, possible racism, foul language, blood, gore, and violence.


**This whole thing started as a joke between a friend mine and me. While my friend might be a "brony", I most certainly am not. So, I present to you, My Fascist Pony!**

_One tequila_

It was Iggy's idea to begin with. Max and the others were out, and we were finally tired of being left behind. It was about time we got some fun going through this place, which, as you can tell, went from bad to total shitstorm.

_Two tequila_

Nirvana was playing off somewhere in the background. Right now, nothing seemed right. I was more than drunk. Iggy really didn't think i had what it took to add some acid into my shots. Like I said, it was his idea. I could feel the veins in my head convulsing, almost to the beat of the distant music. Iggy was laughing his ass off at something, probably my stumbling and slurring words. He didn't have the balls to try it himself, which meant that he expected it to just go over. Yeah, not the best thing in the world to do with a drunken 18 year old with wings.

_Three tequila_

I could have sworn on my life that I as being electrocuted. My whole body was twitching now and this God awful light was blinding me. Iggy tried to stand up straight to help me, but he fell to the side, right next to the couch. I started to yell out in pain and realized that is was toppling over. This wasn't happening, this wasn't happening, this wasn't-

_Floor._

XXXXX

_One Year Later…_

Perfection.

Perfection is the basis for survival. The weak must be disposed of. There is no room for the week in terms of perfection. Nor the old. Nor the sick.

Hoofschwitz is our most successful camp. The fools do not know where we are taking them. The cover of bringing them to the fabled Elysian Fields was filled with holes, yet they hold on to it so much that they willingly allow us to take them. They don't bother to look for the truth itself. They don't bother to think.

"Fool's." I whisper to myself as I walk down the corridor towards the main office. I almost feel sorry for them. We fill them with so much hope and bring them to their deaths for the most part. A few we keep as workhorses to tend to our buildings and gardens, but they are still expendable. Many work until death. Others have tried to escape.

Our Guards, who call themselves the Trice, always take care of the runners.

The Guards are similar to the humans in body but have been said to have evolved from the animals around these parts. They developed our weapons, secured our strongholds, and taken the useless away. In return, we have granted them something dire for them.

We will allow their race to survive our ultimate control.

Before I reach for the door, a Guard comes sprinting from around the corner and stops right in front of me, grinding his heels into the ground to stop. He is a messenger Guard, like the ones that are in the position for their speed. His fur is a strange cobalt blue, which get darker as it reaches the spines on his head and back.

"State your cause, messenger."

"Ma'am! It's Ponybor! A riot has broken out! Their all running free!"

"What! How could this happen!"

"You won't believe this, ma'am, but the angel Gasman is leading them."

Gasman. This Gasman held the truth of everything that could crush our raising empire. His wings were thought to be the markings of an angel, but they were a menace. They were the key to our destruction, which would leave to the unraveling of years that have been kept secret from our people. They could not know. Gasman must be stopped.

"Send the Guards to Celestia." I ordered to the messenger. "We must keep her alive."

XXXXX

_Present_

Discord looked down at the seemingly lifeless body. He could still receive traces of willpower left in its soul, which meant that despite its appearance, the human was alive.

Or at least he would call it a human.

Of all people, Discord would know that what he was dealing with was not spiritual. This was him just eighty years ago. A freak from a facility. Not even a part of nature. It was this unspoken connection to this creation that kept Discord from finishing it off.

The human had a bag around a part of its body. Discord searched through this bag, finding things he did not quite understand. He had been away from humans for about fifty years now, and from what he knows about them, they evolve. Fast.

Discord finally stumbled upon what he hoped to find: a King James Bible. Discord wasn't religious at all, but those miserable ponies were. If he could convince them to disobey the will of God, maybe he could get Him to punish them. It was a long shot, but it was all the creature had left.

As the genetic failure left the genetic success, one thought crossed his mind.

_Let's hope the ponies find him before the Precursors… _


End file.
